


forever until the end

by auroracalisto



Series: Victor Zsasz/Reader [12]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Bad Mother, Carmine is reader's dad, Chubby Reader, F/M, Female Reader, Reader grew up in Washington state, Reader is abused, Slow Burn, abusive, mother is abusive, possible trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:41:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24936211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auroracalisto/pseuds/auroracalisto
Summary: the reader is falcone's long lost daughter whose mother fled to washington after an argument got out of hand.  she was raised in an abused home where if she even mentioned her unknown father, she would be hurt.  a couple of months after turning twenty-one, she's beaten to the point she packs her things in the middle of the night and leaves.  she does everything she can to get to gotham, even going as far as stealing a car.  in gotham, she, fortunately, meets her father, along with a man named victor zsasz who was given the assignment of keeping the reader safe while she gets used to the city.  zsasz has never dreaded a job more, but he ends up surprising even himself when he begins to like the reader.
Relationships: Carmine Falcone/Original Female Character(s), Carmine Falcone/Reader, Victor Zsasz/Reader
Series: Victor Zsasz/Reader [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1656385
Comments: 1
Kudos: 37





	1. a painful escape

There was a chill in the air as [Your name] stared her mother down from across the room. Her mother berated her; her eyes were clouded with rage. 

“You’re such a stupid bitch,” she spat, moving past the couch and coming towards her cornered daughter. She wouldn’t be able to run away from her again that night. “Running away. Don’t you know I only do this because I love you?” she asked, pulling her hair into a tight fist. She forced her daughter to look up at her. 

[Your name] felt the tears welt in her eyes. She could take it. She’s always taken the abuse. She was twenty-one; she’s dealt with this since she was a child. [Your name]’s never had anyone else. Her mother loved her. Her mother had to love her. [Your name] tried to pull her hair out of her mother’s fist, but her mother only slammed her head against the wall behind her. 

“Don’t even think about it, you whore,” she seethed. “You’re so ridiculous,” she scolded, letting go of her hair and roughly grabbing her face in between her hands, forcing [Your name] to look at her. “You’re so disgusting. I can’t believe I gave birth to such a fat, ugly bitch,” she scowled. “You make me sick.” [Your name]’s mother spit in her face. [Your name] flinched away, trying not to cry anymore. 

Nearly an hour later, [Your name] got out of her mother’s hands. She ran up to her room as fast as she could, holding an arm over her bruised abdomen. Tears spilled from her beautiful [color] eyes and she locked her door behind her. Labored breaths escaped her as her chest heaved from her sobs. [Your name] slowly moved to the mattress she slept on and crawled on top of it. She didn’t bother to take anything off or take any further precautions to protect herself from her mother’s rage. She passed out almost as soon as her head hit the mattress surface. 

[Your name] woke in the middle of the night. She forced herself to sit up, looking around. The small, analog clock pinned up on the wall read three in the morning. She needed to leave. She knew she needed to leave. She got to her feet and grabbed a duffle bag, catching a glance at herself in the small mirror she had in her room. She looked like she had been in some sort of accident. The woman frowned deeply to herself and she quickly began to pack what little things she owned. Her makeup, which consisted of blush, mascara, concealer, and powered foundation (as she couldn’t afford much), what clothing she did have, the only pair of shoes she had other than the ones she has currently wearing, her hairbrush, and the charger to her phone that she kept a secret from her mother. [Your name] stuck her hand behind the dresser she had and pulled out her phone. It was cheap and looked cheap—but it got her through as much as she needed it. 

[Your name] threw her duffle bag over her shoulder and stuffed her phone into her back pocket and she limped out of the room, noticing now just how swollen her ankle was. She frowned to herself and quietly walked down the hallway. Her mother was passed out, drunk, in the living room. There were pictures and alcohol bottles strewn across the dining room. [Your name] took a moment to go over, seeing a picture that struck her as odd. It was her mother and some man with her while she was pregnant. [Your name] knew her mother had only been pregnant once, and it was with her. She hesitated for a moment but picked up the picture, her heartbeat pounding in her ears. She turned the picture over and seen the writing on the back: _Carmine Falcone and Tabitha [Your surname], summer before [Your nickname]._ Blood rushed to her brain. Or at least, it felt like it did. She folded the picture and stuffed it into the pocket with her phone before she took one last glance to see her mother. She frowned and closed her eyes before she quickly left the home. She wouldn’t be subjugated to that anymore. 

There wasn’t much [Your name] could do. But she knew that there was a local café that opened early in the mornings for truck drivers that went through town. By the time she had trudged her way to the café, she checked her phone and seen that it was nearly four-thirty in the morning. And luck is on her side, the café was open. In her pockets, she only had enough money for a coffee. But that would be enough for them to let her sit there and charge her phone—and figure out who Carmine Falcone was. 


	2. road trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the reader drives from washington state to new jersey with the stolen car and a miracle credit card that she found, thanks to the ditzy girl she went to high school who owned the car. she even gets to meet jim gordon, first hand, who suspects nothing of her (also, references to the time that he was a traffic officer).

A waitress was kind enough to sit [Your name] in a booth with an outlet near her. [Your name] asked for a coffee and the waitress brought her a pot and a mug with some cream and sugar if she wanted it and then left. She made herself a cup after plugging in her phone and taking out the picture she took from her house. She studied it for a moment, frowning as she turned it around to look at the names on the back again. 

She sat it on the table and took a sip of her drink, sliding open her phone and putting in a long passcode. She connected it to the internet that the café provided, and she searched up the name “Carmine Falcone.” She was astounded by what she found. He was some sort of gangster. Scratch that—some sort of mafia leader from Gotham. Literally across the country. She frowned deeply to herself. She clicked on the Wikipedia page about him. There wasn’t much known about him, except that his wife was dead, and he had several kids, all but one unnamed. The one named was Sofia Falcone. She was gorgeous, too. She bit her lip. He had two children unnamed. 

Could she be one of them?

No way. That was insane. There wasn’t any possible way that she was one of them. [Your name] continued to go through the information page, clicking on the tab that said, ‘Personal Life.’ It was just a short few paragraphs, but one of them talked about how he was in a relationship with the actress Tabitha [Your surname] before she went missing after getting pregnant with his daughter. No one knows where she went, and no one knows if the child is alive or if they died. Tabitha was presumed dead and they even had a memorial for her. 

There was so much that [Your name] didn’t know about her mother. It was crazy. But… it got her thinking. Her mother only had one child. Her. A daughter. She had her with a man that Tabitha never talked about—in fact, if [Your name] ever talked about it, she would be backhanded. 

[Your name] pursed her lips and began to look around on the internet for some sort of address. Number. Anything. She wanted to find out if she could get ahold of him. And of course, she couldn’t find anything. [Your name] didn’t have money. Hell, she didn’t have a car. She didn’t have a bus pass, either. There would be no way she would be able to get to Gotham. [Your name] squeezed her eyes shut and leaned back in her seat before a couple of thoughts occurred to her. She could hitchhike. Or… she could steal a car. 

[Your name] closed her eyes, thinking of her options. If they never caught her, what harm would it do? 

[Your name] sat the money for the coffee down on the table, grabbing her duffle bag and her phone and charger. No, she couldn’t steal a car. She had no idea how to steal a damn car. [Your name] left the café just as the sun was beginning to rise. She sighed softly to herself and ran a hand through her hair, looking at cars as she passed by. Surely, someone forgot their keys. Maybe, just maybe.

The woman stopped in her spot. Her heartbeat in her chest like a bomb about to explode. Someone had forgotten their keys. She looked around with wide eyes, slowly walking over to the car. Sure enough, because of the forgotten keys, it was unlocked. She let out the breath she was holding and tossed her duffle bag into the passenger seat. She quickly hopped into the car and pressed the button for the key fob after she shut the door behind her. She hurriedly put on the seatbelt, watching the car light up as the car started. The Universe was on her side. A full tank and a GPS in the vehicle? This was too good to be true. And maybe it was. But she wasn’t about to let that ruin her nervous excitement. She quickly typed in Gotham City on the GPS and it set up a route for her. 

But the woman began to doubt it. What if she got caught? Hell, whatever would be better than what she had just been through. The doubt quickly diminished, and she took the car out of park. She was so grateful her mom once dated a mechanic—without that, she wouldn’t be able to drive. [Your name] released her breath and put her foot on the gas.

She could have cried to know that she was leaving Washington and her mother, once and for all. Even if Carmine wasn’t her father, she was getting the hell out of the place where she felt like an outcast—a disappointment. Whatever was better than that. 

[Your name] was ten hours into her drive when she looked and saw that the gas tank was getting low. She pulled over at a gas station and began to look around, a frown on her lips. That’s when she saw it—a credit card in the visor of the driver’s side. She quickly got it and took in a deep breath. The name was Olivia La Corte. She knew the girl from high school. She was rich—she would be fine. There was a weight on [Your name]’s shoulders that felt like it had been lifted. Olivia had had a car stolen before and her dad just bought her a new one. A part of her wondered if it would be the same time. Another part of her didn’t care as she got out of the car to pump the gas. 

Twenty hours into the drive, [Your name] was exhausted. She had to pull into a rest stop to sleep. The total trip was going to be forty-two hours. Maybe this was a mistake. All she knew was that she could take a couple of days of hunger to get to where she needed to be. 

[Your name] had to stop one more night, just outside of New Jersey. She would be ready to meet whoever in Gotham as long as she had enough sleep. Once the sun started to heat the stolen car, she woke with a groan. The long trip was finally going to end. She started up the car and looked at the time on the GPS. Two more hours. Two more hours and then, she would be in Gotham. Then, she could figure out the questions she had always been punished for. 

Her twisted ankle was as swollen as it had been when she left. The bruises on her stomach and ribs were still there, along with the bruises on her face. Before she left for Gotham, she shuffled around in her duffle bag and got into her makeup. She applied it to hide all of her bruises. When she felt like she looked decent, she began to drive again. 

Only when she finally made it to Gotham did she begin to worry. How in the hell would she find out where Carmine Falcone lived? She pulled over and parallel parked the car, looking at the GPS. Surely, the GPS wouldn’t have the address. No. It wouldn’t. 

Panic begins to ensue. If she couldn’t even find where he lived, how would she be able to talk to him? Find out why the hell he let her live with her mother? What if he didn’t even know about her? All of her thoughts jumbled and caused her to zone out until there was a knock at the window. She jumped, looking up with wide eyes. An officer stood at the passenger side window. 

She hesitantly rolled it down. “Officer? Can I help you?”

“This is a fifteen-minute parking zone.” he simply said. 

“Oh. I’m sorry. I just—I… I’m just a little lost. I’ll be gone in a couple of minutes, I promise.”

“Lost? What are you looking for?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “You’re a little far from here, aren’t you? Washington plates?”

[Your name] gave him a small smile. “I am. But—but I’m looking for the man I think might be my father. I don’t know if you’d be able to help me or not, Officer…”

“Gordon. Officer Gordon,” he gave her a bit of a smile. 

“Officer Gordon,” she said, taking in a deep breath. “I’m looking for the home of Carmine Falcone…”

“Falcone?” he stared her down. “You think Falcone is your dad?”

[Your name] hesitantly pulled out the photo in her pocket and unfolded it to show the man. “I found this before I left home. That’s my mom… and that’s Carmine.”

The officer stared her down, clenching his jaw. But he wasn’t about to be the reason some stranger showed up at Carmine’s door. Until he saw that [Your name] had been crying. He sighed softly. 

“Alright. I’ll give you this,” he said, writing down on a notepad he had. When he was finished, he gave it to [Your name]. It was Falcone’s address. She looked up at Officer Gordon with wide eyes. 

“Thank you, so much.”

“It’s not a problem. But leave soon, okay? Don’t want to have to give you a traffic ticket,” he chuckled softly before he left the side of her car. 

As soon as he was gone, she quickly typed in the address on the GPS and followed it. This was it. If Carmine wasn’t her father, she’d be in a city with no money, a picture of her mom pregnant with a baby that wasn’t her, and a stolen car. 


	3. meeting the father

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the reader meets falcone and thankfully, he believes her. she also meets zsasz, who is not very secretive about his dislike for their situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the title is funny to me bc ya know in a relationship you gotta "meet the father" before you get married. jokes jokes

After about fifteen minutes, [Your name] found the driveway to a giant mansion. It… was very intimidating. She had lived most of her life in a single-wide trailer. No one came out to the car. It seemed very quiet. 

[Your name] pulled the car around and parked near the sidewalk. She hesitantly got out with her phone in her pocket and she grabbed onto the picture and the duffle bag. She felt a wave of anxiety run through her and she began to walk up to the doors. The woman looked around, not seeing anyone. She took this moment to knock on the door. But before she had the change, the door was swung open and there was a gun at her face. A bald man dressed in black stood behind the gun. His eyes narrowed and he stared her down, the gun clicking to let her know that he could shoot her at any given moment. 

“Who are you?” he asked. 

“I—I need to talk—”

“Who are you?” he repeated. 

“Victor,” came a sigh from a new voice. “Let the poor girl talk. It’s alright. She doesn’t seem to have anything on her.” 

Her eyes widened when she looked past Victor’s gun. “Are you Carmine Falcone…?”

“I am. And who might you be?”

Victor slowly lowered his gun and watched as the woman shifted in her spot. “My name is [Your full name].”

Carmine hesitated for a moment, staring her down. “[Your surname]?” He watched you nod. He pursed his lips. “Why are you here?”

“I left home,” she quickly said. 

“Why?”

“Because I was finally able to leave,” she said. “I… had just enough money to come here. I needed to know if you were my father.” Now, some of that was definitely a lie. But he didn’t need to know that. 

His eyes widened as he stared at the girl. Victor looked back at his boss with a confused expression. 

Before Carmine could say anything else, [Your name] hesitantly stepped inside and revealed the picture to him. “I found this. It says... it says your name and my mom’s name on the back of it. It’s before she had me.”

He took the picture from her and began to look over it. He looked at [Your name] with uncertainty in his eyes. “You’re Tabitha’s daughter?”

She nodded. 

“Her only daughter?”

“Her only child,” [Your name] said, giving a hesitant smile. “That’s… that’s why I think you might be my father.”

“Victor,” Carmine said, looking at his loyal assassin. “Take her bag from her. Join us after you put it in a spare room,” he said. Victor looked appalled that his boss would even tell him to do that—but he did it for the sake of keeping Falcone happy. He shot [Your name] a look as he took the bag. He was a bit surprised by how light it was but he took it away as Carmine led [Your name] to his study to talk some more. “Are you hungry?” When [Your name] nodded, he ordered a maid to get some food and bring it as well. He opened the door for her and let her inside. He sat behind his desk while she sat in front of it. 

“Where have you and Tabitha been all this time?”

“Washington,” [Your name] said. “I didn’t know my mom was from here.”

“Then how did you know to come here?”

“I just looked you up,” she said. “Google said you were a mobster from Gotham City. I kind of got lucky and ran into a police officer who knew where you lived.”

He rose an eyebrow but nodded, watching the door as Victor slipped into the room. After a moment, Falcone turned his gaze back onto [Your name]’s. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-one, sir,” she said. 

He let out a breath through his nose. She was definitely his daughter. He would have a DNA test performed, just to be sure, but there was no doubt—this was the daughter that Tabitha had believing she was going to kill, just to get back at him. 

“Where is your mother?”

“Dead,” she lied. But he didn’t know that. She just didn’t want to think about her mother, let alone reveal where she was and potentially have to see her again. 

“What did she die of?” he asked, frowning at the woman. 

“Alcohol poisoning,” she said, watching as a maid brought in a tray of food. [Your name]’s stomach grumbled. She hadn’t eaten in nearly three days. 

“Eat what you’d like,” he gave her a faint smile. 

“Thank you,” she looked at the man with a grateful expression. 

They talked for the next couple of hours about her childhood (avoiding the parts where she was abused relentlessly). He had told her how grateful he was to get to meet her and had offered her a room in his home, which [Your name] gladly took. He sent her away with clear instructions for Victor: “Take care of her. Until I have another job for you, you will be like her bodyguard. No objections, either, Zsasz.”

This made [Your name] uncomfortable and she apologized to Victor as soon as they were out of her new dad’s study. 

He just shot her a look, leading her to her new room. 

Victor had noticed the makeup she had on her face. He knew that trick. Some of his Zsaszettes had used the same exact trick multiple times before—he was the one who taught them it. But he didn’t say anything to her. He didn’t know how she got them, and he wanted to act like he didn’t care. He leaned up against the doorframe and watched as [Your name] looked around the room in amazement. 

“What, never seen Victorian-style shit before?” he suddenly asked after a moment of watching. 

“I’ve never had more than a mattress and a dresser before,” she admitted, not catching herself before it slipped. [Your name] quickly looked at him and frowned. “Don’t repeat what I just said.”

Victor shrugged and frowned at her, but he didn’t say anything else. 

“Is—is there a shower? Do you—”

He stopped her by pointing. “Everything should be in there. I’m going to Falcone. Just yell. I’ll hear,” he gave her a forced grin before quickly leaving and shutting the door. 

But [Your name] didn’t mind. She needed a good shower. She got an old shirt and a pair of sweatpants from the duffle bag she had, and she went into the bathroom. The woman hardly knew how to use anything in there, but it didn’t stop her. She would figure it out. 


	4. unfortunate conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> victor realizes that the reader was abused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok but the next chapter will be much longer. i 100% promise. i just wanted to pop in and say oops bc i haven't written for this in a long time but i have the inspiration now so here i am

The shower was more than refreshing. Expensive soaps and shampoos ran down her body to pool at her feet. Her ankle, as swollen as ever, still ached. But the fact that she had warm water, for once, made her feel all too better about her injuries. She carefully washed every crevice of her body, grateful for each drop of water. 

Back home in Washington, there had only been cold water. Well, that's all she was allowed to use. Had her mother found out she used warm water, she would have hurt her even more than she already did. And there wasn't much that [Your name] could use. Her mother bought her the cheapest things, including soaps and shampoos. While it worked, it wasn't quite like what Carmine had in this guest shower. The smell of roses and vanilla was almost too overpowering, but it calmed her. It made her feel like, perhaps, this would be a good thing. 

Stepping out of the shower, she grabbed a fluffy white towel and she began to pat her skin dry. With another towel, she wrapped her hair in it so it would dry faster. [Your name] looked at herself in the mirror, taking in all of her bruises and cuts. She just frowned as she finished drying off. Pulling on the clothes she had brought with her, she decided to get her makeup and cover up her bruises once more so if she left the room, it wouldn't be obvious how wounded she was. 

She turned off the lights as she left the bathroom and she carefully made her way over to her duffle bag, taking out the makeup. She started to put it on, carefully hiding every detail she could. But she only had half of her bruises covered when the bedroom door opened. 

Her eyes widened and she quickly looked over at the door, seeing Victor staring right at her. She looked away, taking the towel off her hair and allowing her hair to fall in front of her face. At least some of it would cover her bruises. 

"What the hell?"

"Do you know how to knock?" [Your name] asked, clearing her throat. She turned away, looking to throw her towel in a hamper. 

Victor came over to her from across the room and he grabbed her chin in between his fingers. He clenched his jaw as her hair moved, revealing her bruises and cuts. 

[Your name] quickly pushed his hand away, a panicked expression taking over her face. "Please don't touch me," she said, looking up at him in disbelief. "Don't... don't say anything, either."

"Don't say anything? What, like you lied about your mother?" he stared her down. "Falcone knows Tabitha is still alive. What else have you lied about? That's what I'm here to find out. What are you hiding from the Don—"

"—I'm not hiding anything from him."

"You really expect me to believe that when I walk in on you caking your face with makeup?"

[Your name] stared him down for a moment before she sat down on the edge of her new bed. She frowned, holding the damp towel close as she cleared her throat. 

"What does he want to know?"

"Why you left."

"I left because I was afraid."

"Of?"

"Do you not see my face...?"

Victor furrowed his eyebrows. "What?" The realization hit him and he just frowned at her. "Oh."

"What else?"

"Why are you here?"

"I never lied about that. I'm here because of the picture. And... it got me far away from her. It's a win-win situation, yeah?" [Your name] weakly smiled to herself. She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. "I didn't lie about my reason."

"Fine. Say you didn't. How did you find Falcone?"

"I knew he was in Gotham. Wikipedia can be thanked for that," she said. "But I met this officer. He gave me the address—"

"—Gordon?"

[Your name] looked up at him with a confused expression. "How did you know?"

"Lucky guess."

[Your name] pursed her lips and she looked away from Victor, quiet. There wasn't much she could do. She knew Victor would go and tell Falcone. 

Victor cleared his throat. "Okay. Finish what you were doing. Falcone wants you to eat dinner with him, so be ready, okay?"

[Your name] gave a small nod, frowning as she did so. She didn't know how Falcone would react once Victor told him the truth; if Victor told him the truth. 


End file.
